The eagle that was once gray above the fire place is hell wrought and maniacal. Never truly crossing the finish line, the bones of a smoking jacket disappear into the light of comedy. Soft, red and chewy the arm chair was under surveillance. With a hand crank, its gang belligerently outsourced the living room floor with Chinese Checkers. The rewind button was stuck forcing my brother to drink hot sauce. Exuberant shame with no honesty. A plate of memories stuck to the ceiling of gods infirmary. Dripping louder and louder , feelings had never been stretched as if somehow the sun could be mocked for not giving you rope burn. Rising faster than a knot, hatred was a comforting stream to piss in.
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